The Player Penalty (SteelTrack Racing #3)

4-Julian

Las Vegas Motor Speedway

A career that depends on my skills behind the wheel also demands an obscene number of meetings. This final one, with Boone and our pit chiefs, is just the latest.

I could cause a scandal and start another one. It’d be like being sent to the principal’s office, only less exciting.

“Quick thing before we get started. Julian, my parents are watching the race from my pit box this weekend. Dad mentioned wanting to see you before engine starts to wish you good luck,” Boone says.

Will anyone special be trackside with you this weekend?

Ladies and gentlemen, we have an answer. Boone’s father and my former boss are here to deliver a final attaboy.

“It will be good to see him.” I mean it, too. Tom Rivers has formally retired from the sport, but his name and legacy carry on through his son. Tom gave me a second chance in the Cup Series, and I’ll always be grateful for it.

“Sorry for being late.” Jake Knowles runs in, wiping at his forehead and neck. “Our new sponsor would not stop talking, and I couldn’t figure out how to end it.” With naturally sun-bleached hair, Jake looks like he just stepped out of the ocean. Ever since marrying Sarah Rivers at the local courthouse, he’s become a regular presence. “Hey, Bro. Great to see you again.”

He leans in to give Boone a friendly side hug. Boone Rivers looks like he’d rather run the entire race without a restraining device or a firesuit. The two are related through marriage, and I enjoy witnessing Jake making Boone uncomfortable. The fucking highlight of my day.

“This will be short. We’re talking strategy,” Boone starts.

Rivers Motorsports still fields two competitors. “Why is he here?” I indicate Jake. “Not that I mind, but he gives off serious sleeping with the enemy vibes.”

“Nice,” Jake says. There’s not even a hint of offense. The man is all sunshine and happiness, a great contrast to Boone Rivers, who is made from the black ooze seeping up from the deepest parts of hell. “I’m the only one on my team still in the playoffs. Plus, one of them is a prick, so considering our partnership, I’d rather hang out with the cool kids.”

Jake’s old team, kind of like my last one, is ceasing business. He managed to do it without cheating, so he had that in his favor. “Fair enough,” I say.

Boone clears his throat. “If we’re done with that. This race determines who goes to the next round. It’s down to eight next, which means a third of the drivers are getting cut.”

I know what this means. If one of us can’t win, help out another. Share the lap leads, giving a teammate a bump, if that’s all that can be done. Help with a block. Boone isn’t saying the other important part: I’m lowest in points and, between the three of us, closest to the cut line.

“I’m all in. Whatever can be done, you know I’m here for it.” That includes not making it to the next round.

∞∞∞

Charlotte Motor Speedway

“There you go.” I keep straight and give a nice shove to the 29’s rear bumper.

The push gives Boone a needed jolt, and he overtakes the 48 for the lead. With ten laps to go, it might be enough. Either way, I’m trapped in a three-wide with another one behind me, which means he is on his own.

“Where’s the 24?” I ask.

“Mid-pack. Three rows back, fighting a McAllister.”

Jake will need to win that battle on his own. “I’m breaking out of this mess.” Boone is easily a half-second in front, and his lead is probably growing.

The three of us played off each other the entire race, and it’s gone well. Jake took the first stage, and Boone was on his way to a guaranteed spot in the next round. As for me? I’m glad you asked.

“Passing on this track is fucking shit,” I say and pull ahead, looking for my opening. “Moving into the lower groove. Let’s see-”

My car spins and angles towards the wall. I slam and spin again.

“Julian? You okay? Give us a status.” My ears ring, and I don’t recognize the voice.

“I’m here. It’s good. I think a tire blew.” It’s a best guess; I’m not even sure.

The yellow flag goes out, and my race day ends, and likely, my chance in the playoffs.

∞∞∞

I’m ready to go home. My favorite thing about Charlotte is bringing my car instead of waiting for a scheduled flight. A quick meal and a change of clothes, and then I’m fucking gone.

“Well, hey there, handsome.”

I blink at the woman leaning against my trailer’s door. How did she get back here? Also, what was her name?

“Samantha.” Please let that be it. Her eyes brighten, and I relax. “Aren’t you cold?”

She glances down at her short jean skirt and sleeveless white blouse. “I’m here so you can warm me up.”

Her offer is tempting. Samantha attends two or three races every year, mainly for the partying. I also need to be home for the post-race meeting in the morning, so that provides a ready excuse once the fun is over. “Come on in.” I nod towards the trailer’s door. Her eyes narrow, and I hear the terseness in my voice. “It’s always good to see you again.”

My phone dings and I ignore it.

The trailer feels cold and sterile, oddly giving it a strangely abandoned sensation.

“This place is amazing,” she says.

“It’s serviceable.” I fumble through the mini fridge, hoping to find something to drink. The crew usually stocks it for me, so the contents are a surprise. “You want some wine?” In a plastic bottle, no less. How bad could it be?

Samantha fiddles with the TV and turns on one of the satellite radio stations.

“How old are you?” I ask her, and she doesn’t hear me.

Samantha begins dancing and waving a finger at me to join her.

I check the earlier phone message instead.

Lily: I watched your race. You were great on the field, and I wanted you to know. I’m sorry it ended like that. I thought you would win. You’ll win the next time we play Mario Kart.

We race on tracks, not fields. Adorable.

Samantha saddles up to me and puts her arms around my neck.

My phone buzzes again. It’s Lily. I can sense it. “I’m sorry. It looks like my post-race meeting was moved, meaning it’s time for me to leave.”

She kisses my cheeks and lips. “Take me with. We’ll have fun on the way.”

I pull her arms off of me. “Next time, sweetheart. I need to go if I want to keep racing.”

She leaves after giving me her number in exchange for a promise to call.

Lily: It hurts to work so hard for something and then lose it. Drive safe and wear a seatbelt.

I drive professionally, and she’s reminding me to wear a seatbelt. I exchanged fun for text messages from a girl ten years younger than me. What the fuck am I thinking?

“Can you play now?” I ask as soon as she answers the phone.

“Julian. Aren’t you supposed to do a post-race inspection or review or something?”

“My car turned into an accordion. There’s nothing to inspect.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry.” It’s the second time she’s apologized for my accident, despite having nothing to do with it.

“I changed my mind. We’ll have a rematch tomorrow. I’m driving home. How long can you stay on the line with me?” The line goes dead. “Hello?”

“You want to talk to me?”

“Sure. Better you than Boone Rivers.”

She snorts. “Mr. Rivers is scary. Did you know he leaves the room every time he notices me?”

Boone doesn’t know what to do with her, so he leaves it to other people. He can’t give her one of his withering stares or biting comments. Lily is reserved, the sort of person who slowly warms to different people. Her presence is the key to Pete Webb staying on, which means Boone doesn’t know how to respond to her.

She’s the perfect weapon. She’s also my assistant now. Sort of.

“You scare him,” I say. “Let me call you back in five.”

After shoving two protein bars down my throat, I grab my overnight bag and search for my waiting car.

∞∞∞

“It was eight minutes,” I say as soon as she answers.

“Nine.”

Her voice is naturally quiet, but I can hear it perfectly through my car’s speakers. The dark sky makes it seem there are only the two of us in the world. It’s perfect.

“It’s almost two hours. Can you stay on that long?”

“I don’t have a bedtime.”

“Are you alone?”

“My dad is there with you, so he’ll probably show up after I go to sleep. You’re upset about losing this race, aren’t you?”

“Is it obvious?”

“I figured you wouldn’t even notice my text messages, let alone call me. If I’m the person you reach out to, you’re miserable.”

Damn. Lily shrinks both of us with a backhanded compliment and perfectly calls me out. It’s frustration she’s picking up on. I wasted time last season trying to convince Boone we should strategize more, being teammates and all. Now, all this time later, when he’s trying to grow his fucking company, I’m expected to sacrifice for him. “It was a tough race. I left as soon as the wreck happened without finding out who won or even if I was still in the playoffs. Please don’t tell me; we can find out tomorrow.”

“My TV is off, and I don’t know how to find that other part out so we can be ignorant together.”

“How did you get your name? Lily is a pretty name.”

“Like the flower.” She said the same phrase when we first met.

“That part is obvious.”

“It was my mother’s favorite flower. She died a few hours after I was born. Her name was Rose, so Dad named me Lily for her. There’s a picture of her holding several of them in a photo album, so I guess it’s true.”

“Has it always been just the two of you?”

Pete Webb raised her by himself. I’ve known that for over a year, which still surprises me. He’s gruff and has zero sense of humor. Pete doesn’t fraternize and quickly yells if he believes it’s deserved. I suspect he also doesn’t think highly of me.

He transformed into a different person at that surprise party she threw for him. Pete became a proud father, showing Lily off to everyone who would listen. And he named her after his dead wife’s favorite flower.

Hidden depths in that guy.

“My grandparents helped out for a while, but they’re gone, too. There were also a few babysitters over the years. I used to go to some races, but I hid in our trailer. Then I was old enough to stay overnight by myself and haven’t been to one since.”

“Until next season,” I remind her. “You promised to come next season.”

She doesn’t respond to my reminder but doesn’t deny it, either. “Now it’s your turn. Do you have a family?”

My last name is Murphy. That should answer her question. “How well do you follow NASCAR?” No one ever questions me so directly. Sarah Rivers has made a few oblique comments, mostly from concern, but that’s it.

“For me, it’s Dad’s job and nothing else. He hardly talks about it, probably because he believes it won’t interest me.”

She doesn’t know. After all these months at Rivers Motorsports, no gossip has reached her. Is that due to her isolation or some rare display of consideration of my feelings from the company staff? I want to believe it’s the latter, but it’s not. “Mom, Dad, and one younger brother,” I say. “Plus, a grandmother who also lives in Florida.” Those protein bars sit heavy in my stomach. A sour taste grows in my throat, so I quickly swallow it back and take a swig of water. It helps a little. “You’ll be at work tomorrow, right?”

“As soon as my morning class is over. Why?”

“We have a date tomorrow. It’s going to be an epic rematch.”

“Oh.” Lily’s discomfort is apparent through my phone’s speakers, and I wince. My statement probably implied more than she was comfortable with. “We can do that.”

“You can even go on kicking my ass. Talent like yours shouldn’t go to waste.”

Her laughter chases off whatever remains of my upset stomach. I take another sip of water, and our conversation continues. The remaining drive will pass quickly, with her keeping me entertained.

I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel. Calling her up was a genius idea. What’s better than a random dumb conversation with a friend?